


A Family Affair

by EnjolrasAmy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjolrasAmy/pseuds/EnjolrasAmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random drabble written while on a work experience placement in Yorkshire. What happens when the people you thought you could trust completely turn on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Affair

Marianne Enjolras glanced around nervously, thinking. Why had they ordered her here, of all places? Why did it have to be this cafe? Why did it have to be her brother she had to betray? She paused outside the door of the Musain. Her brother, Sebastian (shortened to Bastian amongst friends) Enjolras, the one person she adored above all others having never been graced with a boyfriend. She had to do this. She had to, or her parents would be killed, the village they looked after destroyed, burnt to the ground. But if she went ahead, she'd sign her brothers' death warrant. Maybe she could... Hmm. She wasn't going to be observed. Of that she was certain. Maybe she could warn him... as well as betraying him, which she had been sent to do. By delivering him one fatal message. Sighing, she pushed the door open. She had to see him once more, just once. Even though this one time she saw him could kill him. Inside the room, a young blonde haired, blue eyed gentleman was speaking to an attentive crowd, all around his age. He shone in the crowd. Like a beacon. Enjolras had inherited their mother's colouring. Long wavy blonde hair, almost golden, and bright, forget-me-not blue eyes, surrounded by long golden lashes, almost like a girls'. His pale alabaster complexion appeared even paler when he was wearing black, as he was that night, bar his white shirt, open at the neck with his cravat loose and dangling down, drawing attention to his muscular shoulders. His long golden hair was tied back with a ribbon of the same black as his cravat. Marianne looked more like their father, long, straight dark brown hair, light hazel eyes that showed so much emotion and a lightly tanned complexion. She was slim without being frail, and radiated an inner strength that so many people try and fail to emit. Dressed as she was, in a grey gown with scarlet and lavender embroidery thickly on the bodice and around the top of the skirt, forming arabesques and curves, she looked nothing like him. Enjolras spotted her, and excused himself. He quietly made his way over to her, ignoring the curious glances of the Amis.

“Sister?” He asked, shocked. Grantaire, who had overheard his question, sniggered drunkenly and couldn't stop his tongue before it was too late.

“Apollo has a sister? She looks nothing like you, Enjolras. Sure your mother wasn't a whore? But I'll shut up if this fair lady...” Here, he staggered to his feet and bowed clumsily, but ending up face-planting the floor, “Would consent to allow me to take her to dinner, and maybe more...” he mumbled from the floor, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Marianne blushed and Enjolras scowled.

“That's enough Grantaire.” Enjolras said tersely. To Marianne he said urgently, “We can't talk here.”

“I'm being watched” she whispered quietly. “I was ordered to...” Marianne broke off and bit her lip nervously, not wanting to tell him she'd come to betray him. Enjolras guessed.

“You can't hide anything from me petite.” He told her gently. “You were hopeless at lying before as you are now. They've got them, haven't they? And the village...?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “And they've sent me lure you into a trap. If you don't come to the main square outside the palace tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, our parents die, the village destroyed, and I...” she shuddered, not wanting him to worry over her fate. He nodded.

“I understand. And I will go, to save you, our parents and the village.”

“BUT YOU'LL BE EXECUTED!!!” she shouted. “And I can't face that. I couldn't watch you die... knowing it was my fault...” The Amis looked at the pair in alarm. Enjolras raised his eyebrow and she lowered her voice. “I don't know what to do.”

“Combeferre will save me.” Enjolras said confidently. She still looked worried.

“I have to go.” She said regretfully. “If I don't go back soon, my punishment will be severe.”

“Where are you staying, that they can treat you, a Lady, a daughter of a landowner like that? Even though I don't approve of the title, you are Lady Marianne Enjolras.” He asked.

“In the palace, well guarded. I'm scared, mon chere frere, scared. But I can't escape...” He hugged her close.

“You're an Enjolras. Stay strong. Je t'aime sister, je t'aime.” She bowed her head for his blessing. He laid his hand on her head for a second. Curtsying to the rest of the Amis, she left, knowing she'd done all she could to save him. Her brother sighed and watched her go, before taking his former place and continued with his speech, but his heart wasn't in it. Dismissing the Amis, he pulled Combeferre to the side and whispered urgently. Combeferres eyes widened behind his spectacles, but he nodded all the same.

“I'll be there.” Promised Combeferre. Enjolras smiled faintly.

“I'm going to send you my papers. The house will be searched.” Combeferre nodded again, at a loss for words. “Godspeed, my friend.” Enjolras blessed him and took his leave. Combeferre waited a few moments more, checking on Grantaire who had passed out in his normal corner before also leaving.

 

The next morning, Marianne was escorted from her room in chains. She had been betrayed by the King. She was now to be the bait for her brother. Insurance. And she would certainly die. To hurt her family. To stop her brother. As she sat quietly, awaiting her fate, her eyes stole over to where the King was sitting, eating his breakfast as if nothing was wrong, scanning the documents his chancellor was passing him. He didn't spare a glance for the terrified girl who was living her last few hours in chains. Marianne was given nothing. After a while, the King waved them away, not even sparing her a glance. Trembling, Marianne was led out into the main square. Her steps faltered as she saw the man in black, waiting by the guillotine. Was this how her life would end? A traitor's death for her brother? Her family? Her brothers' actions? Her mind flew back to the previous night, the night she'd been betrayed, falsely accused by the King. After seeing her brother, she had gone back to the palace as ordered. The King was hosting a dinner that night. As the only free representative of her village, the sixteen year old girl was commanded to attend. The meal passed without incident until the coffee was served. The King, rather drunk, hiccuped.

“In the name of my reign” he slurred, “We have someone here who will betray me. Indeed, I believe she already has.” Here, he paused and Marianne started to tremble without knowing why. Surely the King was drunk-talking. Nothing would be taken seriously, surely... “That girl” he continued, slurring his words even more, “Lady Marianne Enjolras will betray me to her brother, who wants to overthrow me. I cannot allow this. So, my people, why don't we use her as bait and rid ourselves of both rebellious offspring of the Enjolras family in one swoop?” The gathered dignitaries jeered, one Lord grabbing Marianne roughly around the waist, throwing her to another. This 'game' carried on for a few minutes before the original Lord grabbed her by her hair, forcing her to her knees, dragging her to the waiting grenadiers like a dog. Since then, Marianne had been beaten and guarded, weighed down with chains. She feared for her brothers life. Her life. At the sound of drumbeats she was roughly pulled from her thoughts as the guards dragged her to the scaffold.

“I'm innocent! I'm nothing!” She protested as the chains were removed and her hands were bound behind her with a coarse rope. She was forced to her knees next to the guillotine, the executioner's glasses winking behind his hood as the early sunlight caught them. The time was nine o'clock. The square was filled with people. At that precise moment she was pushed down, her brother walked into the square and stopped dead.

“BASTIAN!!!” she screamed. “Run! It's a trap! Just run for God's sake!” Seeing him not move, she started sobbing. Enjolras looked at her sadly. There was his sister, his own flesh and blood, kneeling by the guillotine, crying, awaiting her death. Some of the crowd were looking at her with pity, the poor, condemned girl, others at the brother, who stood petrified. A runner from the scaffold ran up to him, parting the crowd as he went, handing Enjolras a piece of parchment sealed with the royal seal. Enjolras opened it hesitantly.

 

_Lord Sebastian John Enjolras III,_

 

_If you are reading this, then you know your sister, Lady Marianne Enjolras, is about to die. Your parents, on hearing about your traitorous ways, allowed me to hatch a plot to rid myself of you. They have cast you out, but admit you retain your title. As it is yours by birth. As is hers. Not that it will be useful to you or her in the world beyond this one. Naturally, the Lady Marianne will also die, as she resisted the marriage her parents proposed. Namely her marriage to me. A snub against my person, my soul and my position. I have no doubt you were instrumental in helping her escape and giving her ideas. Her disobedience and your traitorous ways condemn her. You cannot save her..._

 

Enjolras paused and looked up from the letter in terror to his sister. His eye was drawn to a scuffle on the scaffold. Combeferre had figured out the trap with his logical mind even before Enjolras had realised that there was a trap. Marianne had warned him of a trap, but he'd paid her no heed. Combeferre was acting in the way Enjolras would have expected him to. By disguising himself as the executioner, (Enjolras having no idea what happened to the real executioner. The author can reveal that at that moment in time, he was sleeping, due to the effect of a tranquillizer Combeferre had slipped into his drink that morning.) and helped her. Under the pretext of adjusting Marianne's position to easily sever her head from her body, Combeferre pulled her to safety. As soon as Enjolras saw his sister safe, he swung into action. Before the stunned crowd, he fled, avoiding the shouts of the guards, the cocking of rifles. He still held the note. He had to show Marianne. He had to show her the proof of their parents treachery. He paused at the door of the Musain. Someone, Combeferre no doubt, had used soot to mark an arrow on the wall. Enjolras knew what it meant. Wiping the soot off the wall to confuse his pursuers, he ran. Enjolras didn't stop running until he reached Rue Rivoli.

 

Combeferre was in the bakery along the street, cutting Marianne's bonds, careful to not cause her any more distress. Enjolras appeared, panting, in the doorway. Pulling away from Combeferre, she hardly let Enjolras into the bakery before flinging her arms around him and clinging tightly.

“I'm sorry! I'm so so so sorry!” she breathed into his jacket. Her breath caught in her throat, starting to sob. Enjolras kept his arm around her comfortingly, but disentangled himself from her embrace.

“Sister. We need to flee.” He states calmly.

“Back to the village? To warn them?” she asked with the naïve innocence of the child she still was. Enjolras sighed.

“No.” He showed her the letter. Marianne took it and read silently.

“Oh Bastian...” she whispered, horrified. “ _Following your sister's death, you will undoubtedly be in agony over her fate. Be at peace, as you will soon join her again. Victory is sweet, is it not? My perfect victory. A weed spreads through the parents. And we must cultivate the ideal strains, and kill the others. Your sister chose her own fate. You choose yours. Die like a gentleman, a Lord that you are, or die a traitor. Vive le Rex_ ” **(AN: Translation roughly Long Live the King)** Enjolras nodded.

“You must marry. To save yourself.” He informed her sadly, not wanting to let her go. “As only your husband can protect you. As it is, you could be pronounced a whore, shunned. You'll be worse than a criminal. No one will want anything to do with you. A traitorous whore is worse. You _must_ marry someone. As vile as the idea can be.”

“I...” trembled Marianne, fearing marriage would trap her, her spirit, once more in chains, albeit silken chains of comfort and ease. She couldn't give herself to any man. She wouldn't. Her spirit, her wild spirit restrained her. Combeferre coughed awkwardly, and Enjolras looked at him curiously. Smiling sheepishly, Combeferre pulled him aside, speaking so quietly so Marianne couldn't hear.

“Enjolras, mon Ami, I admire her. Maybe even love her, even though I thought I could never love, it being illogical. But I love her more than I can say. She is a strong lady. I saw that today, even today, when she faced death, she was unafraid for herself, more for you. I wish to marry her, for you, for yours, and your families, sake.”

“My family caused this!” Enjolras hissed. Combeferre inclined his head.

“My apologies Enjolras. But I want to be by her side, forever. Do you permit it?” Enjolras smiled at his friend.

“If she permits.” He said simply. Combeferre smiled back at him, before going back to Marianne. Kneeling before her, Combeferre took her hands in his and looked deep into her soft hazel eyes with his steely grey eyes.

“Lady Marianne Enjolras, I want to protect you. I never want to see you in a situation like today again. You don't deserve it. I love you, your strength, your refusal to submit, your beauty... Will you marry me?” Marianne gasped in shock. She had not expected this. Looking over at Enjolras, she saw him give a wry smile. Looking back at Combeferre she smiled, nervously it is true, knowing this answer would change her life.

“I will.” She answered softly. Combeferre stood and took her in his arms, kissing her chastely on the lips, gently, softly, not wanting to scare her. Marianne kissed him back a little firmer, wrapping her arms around him, taking comfort in his presence. Enjolras smiled slightly at the pair.

“You're safe now. And always will be. For the rest of my life.” Combeferre promised solemnly.

“Will we still have to run?” she asked him, including Enjolras in the question.

“Maybe.” shrugged Enjolras, unconcerned. “Or we'll just keep a low profile. My apartment will surely be watched. Combeferre can stay at his place. We can take a room somewhere, somewhere quiet, out of the way, but still in the city. My work is to important.” Combeferre pulled Enjolras aside again.

“I want to get her something.” Combeferre stated. “I can listen for news at the same time. Given both of you escaped, Paris may not be safe.” Enjolras nodded.

“Alright. We'll stay here.” He promised. Combeferre shook his head.

“If it gets too dangerous for her here, take her away. Get her to safety. They'll take her as a woman. They'll capture her. And this time she'll die alone. I have a room in the Gorbeau House. I never use it. It's in the name of Bregan.” Combeferre passed a key to Enjolras. “You'll be safe if you're not discovered.” Enjolras nodded again. Combeferre kissed Marianne quickly and tenderly, before taking his leave, and slipping out the bakery like a shadow.

 

Enjolras scrutinised his sister carefully. She was so young still... too young to be married. Too young to be held as a traitor. Too young to have been betrayed, too young to be as concerned as she was. Hesitantly, he broached the question that he had been too scared to ask before. “What did they do to you?” He asked, concerned. Marianne looked at him, sorrow sinking deep into her eyes.

“Apart from a game of 'pass and grope the traitor'?” she asked. “Just a flogging.” Bastian started violently.

“May... may I see?” He asked. Glancing around, Marianne withdrew into a dark corner. Trying to reach around her back to release the cords of her dress, she whimpered.

“Can you help me get out of this?” she whispered. “The guards forced it on me. Supposed to be suitable for a witch burning, so I was honoured” she commented dryly. Enjolras tugged at the cords holding the rag at the back, slightly preserving her modesty. Letting the rag slip from her shoulders, Enjolras was able to take into account the full amount of harm his sister had suffered for him. Her belly and breasts were covered in red welts from the cat o'nine tails flogger. “That's nothing.” Marianne told Enjolras quietly. Turning away from him, the light caught her back. It had been whipped raw. How she survived was a mystery to Enjolras. Cuts and welts marred her skin. Some had been done by the flat of a sword he was sure. Aware of her modesty, and her vulnerability, Enjolras quickly pulled the rags over her shoulders and fastened the cords. Silence fell between the brother and sister, one in shock, one filled with dreams and ideas of love.

 

A little while later, a set of footsteps was heard approaching the bakery. Pushing Marianne behind him, Enjolras grabbed hold of a chair, ready to use it against any intruders. Combeferres' head poked around the door slightly. “Only me” he said. Marianne came from her hiding place. Combeferre was putting a couple of packages on one of the tables. After he'd finished this task, he took the girl's hand again in his. Pulling a little square box out of his pocket, he knelt before her again. “I know you've said yes before. But I want to do this properly. Lady Marianne Enjolras, sister of Lord Sebastian John Enjolras III, will you marry me?” Marianne smiled.

“Of course.” Combeferre slipped the solitaire diamond onto her finger, kissing her hand as he did.

“I also brought clothes for you and your brother.” Pointing to the larger of the two packages, Marianne took his direction and retired to the back to change. “It's bad, Enjolras.” Combeferre reported sadly. “You must get out of Paris for a while. Go to my parents in Lyon. Take my fiancée, introduce her. It's natural, and it'll keep her safe. I can start something that will take their minds off you.”

“But the Amis...” Enjolras protested.

“I can look after the Amis. Trust me, it won't be long before they're looking for someone else. I just need to confirm my suspicions, and then they'll be chasing a new thief.” smirked Combeferre. Enjolras laughed slightly.

“I trust you, Combeferre. Send word as soon as we may return.”

“I will.” Just then, the door behind them opened. There, her face clean, hair combed and a new gown that emphasised her beauty, stood Marianne. Even Enjolras, seeing his sister bathed in the light of her new-found splendour, struggled to recognise her. Love changes people. Marianne was shining in its light. As she stepped into the room, the aura around her disappeared, and she was once again herself, just shining in a pale blue silken gown.

“Combeferre... thank you.” She breathed. Combeferre blushed.

“Please, call me Luc. Ones fiancée should know their fiancée’s name. And it's nothing. My parents would expect my bride to be noble.” Enjolras stiffened.

“Bourgeois, I take it?” He half-snarled to Combeferre.

“Sadly yes,” replied Combeferre, “But they accept my need to be different. To do what I want with my life. To marry whom I wish. Even if her brother is a rebel. Or their son...” Enjolras sighed.

“Maybe it will be safe then.”

“What do you mean?” Marianne asked, confused.

“We have to go for a while. To Lyon.” Bastian answered her. Sighing, Marianne consented.

 

A few hours later, Combeferre waved them off as they went away in a little carriage, looking for all the world like a perfect couple. The perfect family. He turned away and started making his own plans.

 

Combeferres' plan was complete within a month. The police were chasing different criminals, the Enjolras parents banished from court for allowing their children to escape and evade detection, meaning that the name of Enjolras was forgotten. Marianne and Enjolras had not been idle while they were away. Combeferres' parents were more than happy to have a noble Lady as a daughter-in-law. As such, they had showered her with attention and affection. Marianne had been carefully tutored in the family tree, and her appearance had changed slightly. She was still the same beauty as before, but now, with proper female guidance and dressing, she was making the most of herself. Enjolras was also transformed, and his respect for his lieutenants' family grew, even if they were bourgeois. But even in his exile, he was working on his plans. And it broke Marianne's heart.

 

A few days after their return, Marianne and Combeferre married in a simple ceremony, but attended by the people that meant so much to them both. Marianne's parents were forgotten.

 

This idyll couldn't last, however. A little over a year after the wedding, General Lamarque died of cholera. Combeferre, his place, as always, at Enjolras' side, fell beside him, with the rest of the students. Marianne, a young widow, was left alone. Her parents betrayed her. Her brother was dead, her husband beside him. Her position impossible. Later that night, that fateful night of 6 June 1832, she walked along the Seine, clutching a locket to her throat, trembling slightly. At the edge of the bridge, she paused and saw a figure step off the side of the bridge. No doubt it was some other poor soul who had lost her husband or lover to the Cause. A few feet away from the place where the figure stepped off, Marianne climbed over the railings and held herself there, graceful, a proud figurehead on a ship. She smiled up at the stars, seeing her husband and her brother looking at her, knowing she'd be joining them.

 

And then she let go.


End file.
